


only know for certain

by theundiagnosable



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Soulmates, just go with it, kinda trope inversion but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 15:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12844296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theundiagnosable/pseuds/theundiagnosable
Summary: “So,” Mitch Marner, who is apparently his soulmate, says, “where’s yours?”Auston stares, dumbfounded.“Oh, man,” Mitch groans. “It’s not on your butt, is it? Please tell me my name’s not on your butt.”





	only know for certain

Auston’s been a Leaf for, like, a second and a half when everything goes to shit.

Mo Rielly’s talking to him, all friendly, and Auston’s trying his best to look like being shown around an NHL locker room isn’t the single coolest thing to ever happen to him, when one of the other young guys appears at his side.

Auston barely has time to recognize him – Mitch Marner, went fourth last year – before the guy starts talking. 

 “Auston with an ‘o’,” he says, instead of _hello_ or _nice to meet you_ or anything even vaguely normal. “You have really bad handwriting, dude.”

Before Auston can register what that means, Marner is yanking up his hoodie and pointing at a spot right over his ribcage, casual as anything, and Auston knows his own signature, red ink somewhere on the messy side of cursive, and it’s right there on this guy’s chest.

Auston forgets how to breathe.

Peering over Auston’s shoulder, Mo sighs. “Oh, let the guy _breathe_ , Mitch.”

And it’s not even like it’s really a question, right, ‘cause Auston’s been tracing the letters M-I-T-C-H over his heart for as long as he’s known how to read, and sure, he knew there was a Mitch on the team, but the odds of him being _Auston’s_ Mitch- it didn’t even really occur to him- It doesn’t feel _real_ , standing there and staring at his name on someone’s body like in all the stories. It should probably be some big profound moment, only-

Auston’s isn’t the only name.

It looks like the crayola factory exploded on Mitch’s torso. With, just, _so_ many names – there’s got to be at least forty – guys and girls, all scrawled across his chest and disappearing under his shirt in different handwriting and colours.

“So,” Mitch Marner, who is apparently his soulmate, says, “where’s yours?”

Auston stares, dumbfounded.

“Oh, man,” Mitch groans, letting his shirt fall back down. “It’s not on your butt, is it? Please tell me my name’s not on your butt.”

“It’s not on my butt,” Auston says, and Mitch looks relieved, flashing him a smile.

“Baller,” he says, like that’s a thing people say, and then he’s linking his arm with Auston’s and all but dragging him across the room. “Willy’s got the stall next to mine, ‘cause we both came in last week, but there’s one free next to him so we’ll all be able to hang out before games,” he chatters. “If that’s cool, I mean.”

“That’s,” Auston starts then stops, still not entirely processing everything. “Sure.”

Mitch turns and looks at him. “You look surprised,” he says, almost apologetic. “I know it’s a lot to get at once, I just get pretty excited when I find someone, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Auston says, a lot more calm than he feels. “I’m getting that vibe.” He doesn’t mean it as a joke, really, but Mitch laughs anyways, and Auston’s heart does this weird flip, ‘cause it’s the kind of laugh he doesn’t think he’d get tired of.

“You seem chill,” Mitch announces, like it’s a done deal. “We’re going to be awesome, I can tell.”

No one else in the room even reacts, like this is normal. And Mitch is still smiling up at Auston, which is nice, except Auston can see the edge of another name poking out from under his sleeve, the tops of more letters under his collar, and he’s just-

He’s so _confused_.

\---

It’s not, like, unheard of for someone to have more than one name. Auston’s coach during peewee had his wife and his two kids. He once had a teacher who had her sister and someone she hadn’t met yet.

Auston’s never heard of anyone with as many names as Mitch. Far as Auston can piece together during training camp and everything after, Mitch has got the names of at least five guys on their current roster, plus a bunch more players across the league, and his family, and some people that no one’s met, yet. Coaching staff is pretty excited about it – all-time record’s six on one team, and that was ages ago, and only pairs, never whatever weird web Marns has going. They won three cups together.

Thing is, though, see, Auston doesn’t have any other names.

That’s never been an issue. It never even occurred to Auston that it could be an issue. And it’s not like it is now, really, because he scores four goals in his first ever game, and carpools with Mitch, and has never snapchatted so much in his life. That last one’s also Mitch, a lot of the time, because he’s always sending selfies and updates about his day and asking about Auston’s, this easy closeness that Auston’s used to before he even realizes it’s there. He’s never just _gotten_ someone like this before, and it’s every story he’s ever heard about soulmates but better because it’s actually happening to him, this special, great thing, except-

Auston doesn’t know. It sounds like he’s jealous, which he’s not, because he met Mitch, like, a month ago, and they’re friends. Awesome together just like Mitch said, and Mitch hasn’t shown any indication that he wants to be anything else. Auston’s cool with that. Tons of people have platonic soulmates, and it’s actually nice seeing how much the guys all love Mitch, because he thrives on the affection and they can shuffle the lines around and still play fucking awesome, and it’s not like he owns Mitch, duh.

It’s just- Mitch’s name is _right there_ , on Auston’s heart, and Auston was sort of hoping-

It’s dumb.

He’s got a soulmate. His soulmate’s got a bunch of soulmates. Nothing to complain about.

\---

Mitch doesn’t start the car, just sits there and leans his head back against the seat. The sound of the crowd cheering is still ringing in Auston’s ears, it feels like.

Their team is _good_.

“God,” Mitch says, and he sounds a little out of breath, but he’s smiling, and it’s kind of contagious. “Matts-”

“I know,” Auston says, and they’re just kind of grinning at each other like idiots, because it’s the kind of night that feels how hockey’s supposed to feel, how he always imagined the NHL when he was a kid. It’s _better_ than he imagined it, tonight, because the team’s finally coming together and Bon Jovi tweeted them and Marns is still smiling at him like they’re in on some joke.

“Hey,” Mitch says, “You’re pretty fucking amazing at hockey, d’you know that?” 

“You’re pretty fucking amazing at hockey too,” Auston says, dumb, and Mitch makes a face.

“Such a dork,” he says, but it’s all fond. He punches Auston’s shoulder. “This is actually sick, though, right? How many people get to play hockey with their literal soulmates?”

“Like, half our team,” Auston says. “Half the guys you’ve ever played with.”

Mitch laughs, even though it was mostly just the truth. He looks so good like that, kind of washed out in the parking lot lighting, hair still damp from his shower.

Auston doesn’t kiss him. They’ve known each other for, like, a month and a half. Of course he doesn’t kiss him.

It’s a close thing.

\---

(They’re showering after playing the Sens, and Auston catches a glimpse of Mitch’s torso, this blur of colours. Wonders how many of them Mitch has kissed.

He makes himself stop looking, after that.)

\---

For all that Marty drops his gloves, Auston has never actually really looked at his hands, which is why he does a double take when Marty takes off his gloves to wipe down his visor and right there, across his knuckles, is _MITCH_. Like, he knew they were soulmates. Duh. It’s just- different, seeing it for real.

Marty notices Auston staring, raises his eyebrows.

“Sorry,” Auston says, embarrassed. They’re all hanging around on the ice after practice; whatever the place for these revelations is, it’s not here.

Matt shrugs. “s’fine. Not hiding it.” 

Auston just kind of grunts, because he doesn’t know what the appropriate response is to seeing your soulmate’s name on someone else.

Matt puts his helmet back on, looks at Auston, unbothered. “I was kind of pissed,” Matt says, like an offering.

“Um,” Auston says. “What?”

“It didn’t appear ‘til later,” he says. “I was mad. Thought I was going to suddenly start liking dudes.” The face Auston makes at that must really be something, because Matt laughs. “It’s not like that. He’s like my little brother. Explains why I always want to look out for him, I guess.”

“Isn’t that your job?” Auston asks, to try and regain the upper ground.

“Don’t be a smartass.” Marty cuffs Auston on the back of the head, affectionate. “He’s a good kid. You know he really likes you.”

Auston doesn’t fixate on that, except for how he totally does, because like doesn’t mean like-like but it also doesn’t _not_ mean like-like, and he can hear Marns from across the rink, laughing at something Willy said, and everything is just a lot, right now. He’s dealing. “And you’ll beat me up if I hurt him?”

“Nah,” Matt says cheerfully. “We’re like, soulmates-in-law, or something.” He claps Auston on the back. “I’d wait ‘til the season’s done.”

Auston’s like, eighty-five percent sure he’s teasing.

Life was easier before he had a soulmate, probably.

\---

When Auston wakes up, the living room is dark and his nose is itching. It takes a second for him to figure out that second one – he’s slumped over, face pressed into Marns’ hair.

“Mmph.” He makes himself sit up, rubbing at his eyes. His brain’s still all fuzzy, like he’s not quite awake. “Mitchy?”

“Hey,” Mitch says. His hair’s messy, sweater bunched up on the side where Auston was leaning on him. He grins at Auston, teasing. “Point of a movie night’s to watch a movie, usually.”

“Funny,” Auston says, still a little slow. The credits are rolling on the TV, and his phone’s sitting on the coffee table next to the empty popcorn bag. “You should’ve moved me.”

Mitch waves him off. “And miss taking a million blackmail pictures of you sleeping during _Fast and Furious_? Nah.”

Auston flips him off; doesn’t bother trying to hide a yawn, big and probably pretty ugly.

Mitch kind of laughs. It’s more a breath than anything else, and the fondness in his eyes catches Auston off guard. “You yawn like a monster.”

“Roar,” Auston says, agreeably enough, and he’ll chalk it up to the fact that he’s still mostly asleep that he flings an arm around Mitch’s waist and tugs him in for a hug. It’s clumsy, a bad angle, but it makes Mitch laugh for real this time, and he cozies up obligingly, getting close so they’re sharing the same couch cushion.

Mitch is really warm. Better than a blanket, probably, and humming along to the music that’s playing over the credits, and the hugeness of it all dawns on Auston slowly, the fact that he’s here in the NHL with his soulmate, this is his life.

It’s kind of overwhelming, how it manages to feel like nothing and everything at the same time. They’re on Mitch’s couch like they’ve been here forever, and it reminds Auston of visiting his grandparents on Christmas eve or getting to sleep in his own bed after a tourney, this feeling like _home_ that he can feel like a tangible thing. It’s like- he’s been waiting for this without realizing it.

He feels _quiet_ , this big kind of calm sitting under Mitch’s name on his chest.

“You sleeping over?” Mitch asks, after a few minutes. His voice is all soft, like he’s maybe starting to drift off. Auston nods against him. “Want to go to bed? It’s probably comfier.”

“In a while,” Auston says, and Marns doesn’t push it, just stays there and lets Auston stay wrapped around him like it’s just the two of them, and, for tonight, Auston lets himself believe it.

\---

Auston asks, because he doesn’t know how not to.

“Is it weird?” He keeps his eyes steadily on the wall in front of him, focused on rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. Doesn’t turn around to look at Mitch. “Having more than one person?”

There’s something in Mitch’s voice- not surprised, exactly. Bemused. “Is it weird having only one person?” 

“Don’t be a shit,” Auston says, and chances a glance over his shoulder. Marns is still facing away from him, water coming off of him in rivulets down his back. It’s hard to read the names, from here. Auston looks away. “You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Mitch says, and he’s quiet for a couple of seconds before talking again. “I dunno. Some kids were jerks, in elementary school. I wore a lot of turtlenecks. Then I was doing hockey, so it didn’t matter.” 

It doesn’t come out quite as casual as he means it to, Auston thinks. He doesn’t call Mitch out for it, tries to match his tone and falls short, a little, when he asks, “You don’t think it matters?”

“Oh, come on. No one actually believes the one true love thing,” Mitch scoffs. Then, when Auston doesn’t say anything, “You totally do, don’t you.”

It’s not a question, and Auston doesn’t bother lying, just shrugs, a little defensive, before remembering that Mitch can’t see his face. “It’s a nice idea.”

He can practically hear Mitch smiling. “You, Auston Matthews, are a _romantic_.” The water from his shower shuts off, and Auston listens to his footsteps on the tiles, echoing in the empty room.

Auston turns off his water, shaking out his hair like a wet dog. “Shut up.”

“Don’t worry,” Mitch says, and this time, when Auston peeks over, Mitch is grinning back at him, wearing a towel around his shoulders like a cape. “It’s kind of sweet.” He tosses another towel over to Auston, and Auston catches it one-handed and ties it around his waist, not sure whether or not to be offended.

“I’m not _sweet_.”

Mitch shakes his head, fond. “Yeah, you are. With me.”

He doesn’t even say it like chirping, which is maybe the worst part. He says it like stating a fact, like the sky is blue, ice is cold, Auston Matthews is _sweet_ about Mitch Marner, simple as that. And it’s that, probably, the two of them standing across from each other in the empty room, mostly naked, but their eyes meet, and it’s this weirdly intense thing, all of a sudden.

Auston doesn’t plan on asking, but he does, anyways, on a whim. “Can I see?”

“See?” Mitch asks, all clueless, except Auston sees him tug his towel a little tighter around himself.

“You know,” Auston says, because Mitch knowing him has never really been a question. “You don’t have to say yes.”

“No, I know,” Mitch says. He’s looking at Auston all intently. “I mean- You want to?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“Okay,” Mitch says, then again. “Okay.”

There’s a beat where they’re both just standing there, hovering on the edge of awkward, then Mitch says “okay” one more time, like he’s psyching himself up, and crosses the room ‘til he’s standing in front of Auston.

He’s looking at Auston when he pulls off his towel, and Auston’s looking back.

“Can I-”

Mitch nods, and stares down at Auston’s hand when he extends it to trace along the letters of Mitch’s soulmates’ names. It’s careful, hesitant at first, Auston trying too hard not to look below Mitch’s waist, Mitch tense under Auston’s touch. It’s almost too intimate, this heady thing, like an exposed nerve.

Auston reads the names up Mitch’s arm and across his chest, stopping at each one. There’s _DYLAN_ scrawled right along Mitch’s clavicle in obnoxiously large block letters that look like they were written by a five year old; _Bonnie_ with a little circle instead of a dot over the I, right on his shoulder; _Auston_ perched on top of Mitch’s ribs like it’s sitting on a ledge. _Chris_ and _Matt_ and _Sarah_ and _Alex_ and-

And it’s beautiful, maybe, or it would be if Auston was a better person, but he just. He doesn’t _get it_. One soulmate feels like too much to hold, sometimes, like his chest is going to burst with how much Marns matters to him. He doesn’t know how Mitch can possibly hold that much for so many people. It doesn’t make _sense_.

“You really think it’s weird, huh?” Mitch asks, like he’s reading Auston’s mind, and it’s like coming back to earth.

“No,” Auston says. “It’s you, it’s not- it’s just a lot.”

 “You’ve seen me without a shirt before,” Mitch points out. He’s still holding onto his towel, close enough that Auston could reach out and touch him again.

“I never really looked,” Auston says, honest. He doesn’t know if he’s glad he did.

There’s nothing special about his name. It’s not the biggest, not even in its own area. It’s just there, like all the others.

\---

Mitch spends the whole flight back from St. Louis sitting with Mac and watching clips from his kids’ school play like it’s the most riveting thing in the world. If Auston wasn’t stupid gone for him already, that’d probably do it, he thinks.

\---

They’re lying on the floor at Marns’ place, Auston using Mitch’s stomach as a pillow while Mitch plays with his hair, absentminded.

“So,” he says, tapping Auston’s forehead to get his attention. “I met Sarah.”

Auston’s stomach drops, but he turns his head to look at Mitch. “Left hip Sarah?”

Mitch nods, smiling kind of dreamily up at the ceiling. “I spilled my drink on her at Starbucks and saw my name on her wrist when we were cleaning up.”

“Hey,” Auston says, hoping like fuck that it doesn’t sound like he’s trying as hard as he is to be happy about Mitch’s meet-cute. “Hey, Mitchy, that’s great.” 

“She was nice,” Mitch says. “Really funny. Like. Mean, but funny-mean, you know?” 

Auston nods, a second too late. Mitch doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Kinda reminded me of you, actually,” he says, then grins down at Auston, teasing. “Prettier, though.” 

And Auston can’t breathe, suddenly, but he tries to smile, because he doesn’t get to be possessive about this. Mitch isn’t his like that. He’s decently convincing, or at least enough that Marns doesn’t follow him when he mutters some excuse and goes and locks himself in the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat and trying to get his shit together.

He never even had a chance.

\---

“Matty,” Mo says, bumps his side up against Auston’s when they’re leaving the practice rink, a week later. “Are things cool, with you and Marns?”

“‘course,” Auston says, and it’s not a lie, really, because it’s not like things _aren’t_ cool. It’s not like anything, except for that they’ve dropped their last two games and he’s barely spoken to Marns for three days and the one time they did Mitch mentioned Sarah and Auston feels like he’s going to explode.

It’s harder than he thought it’d be. Like- he didn’t realize how much time they spend together until he was actively trying not to.

Doing the decent thing feels worse than he was expecting.

\---

 Mitch shows up at Auston’s hotel room, because of course he does.

“I have something to say to you,” he announces, the second that Auston opens the door, and marches past him into the room without waiting for an invitation.

Auston just kind of stands there, for a second. Considers making a break for it – Brownie can have the room to himself when he gets back from dinner, Willy’l let Auston crash with him – before heading back inside, because the whole ‘loving someone and letting them go’ was never really going to work with Mitch, probably.

Marns is sitting on Auston’s bed, waits ‘til Auston comes and sits next to him before talking.

“So,” he says. He doesn’t look mad, exactly. More serious than usual.

“So,” Auston says, and Mitch sighs.

“Tell me what’s happening,” he orders, and Auston can’t muster up a denial.

“Marns,” he says. He’s tired of this, how being around Mitch somehow manages to feel like a knife to the gut and the best thing in the world at the same time.

He missed him. It’s been three days and they’ve been in the same place for two of them and Auston missed him.

“C’mon,” Mitch says. “Is this- I know it’s not a prank, because you’re shit at pranks, but I don’t get what else it’d be, because you like me enough that you wouldn’t just drop me for no reason, right?”

Auston kind of wants to laugh. It comes out more like a breath, this pathetic thing. “Right,” he says, and he can tell that Mitch is waiting for him to say something else, but he can’t.

There’s no angry left in Mitch, now. They’re both just sitting there, neither one speaking. Then:

“Did I do something wrong?” Mitch asks, after a long pause. He sounds tentative enough to kind of break Auston’s heart.

“No,” Auston says. “Of course not.”

“I can’t figure it out,” Mitch says, like Auston didn’t even speak, which is probably fair. “Like, usually if I do something dumb, you or Marty or someone will tell me, but I can’t think of anything I did worse than usual.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Auston says, and Mitch is just _staring_ at him like he sees right through him.

“Then why’re you acting like I don’t exist?” There’s something on Auston’s face, maybe, because Mitch softens, just a little. “You think I don’t want to hang out with you, is that it?”

“Don’t,” Auston says, except Mitch takes that as a yes, actually reaches out and grabs Auston’s hand like that’s a thing people do.

“Matts,” he says, and squeezes Auston’s hand, all earnest, and Auston can’t do this. “You’re so- I always want to hang out with you. We’re bros-”

“Okay,” Auston interrupts, too loud. “Okay, but maybe I didn’t plan on my only soulmate being a bro, Mitch.” He’s staring at the carpet, now, scared to look at Mitch and see- fuck, he doesn’t know. Pity.

Mitch is still holding his hand, sounds too careful when he asks, “What does that mean?”

Auston shrugs, helpless. “You have all these options,” he says, and finally meets Mitch’s eyes. “I just have you.”

He doesn’t realize how it sounds until he sees Mitch’s face fall, this look like Auston just hit him.

Auston’s an idiot.

“I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”

Mitch lets go of Auston’s hand. It looks like he’s trying not to cry. “Yeah.”

“Mitch, I’m not-”

“It’s fine.” He’s still not looking at Auston, and it’s the opposite of fine, because Mitch should never look like this, not because of him.

“No, it’s not,” Auston says, and it’s like everything gets crystallized into right now, him and Marns sitting across from each other on the bed, and Auston doesn’t think he’s ever been more scared in his life, because there’s dozens of other names and so many ways this could all go wrong, but-

But he has Mitch’s name, right over his heart, and that has to count for something.

 “I wouldn’t want anyone else,” he says, and reaches out, takes Mitch’s hand again. “I just- it’s not fair of me, to expect you to want me when you have so many other people to pick from, and I do anyways, and I don’t know what to do with that.”

And they’re just looking at each other, now, silence stretched out between them. Auston thinks his hand might be shaking.

“What are you saying?” Mitch asks.

Auston shrugs, small. “You know, Marns.”

Mitch exhales. Bites his lip. Auston follows his gaze down to their joined hands, watches Mitch lace his fingers with Auston’s, not hesitant, exactly. Just- very deliberate. Slow.

It’s so, so quiet.

“I knew it was you,” Mitch says. He drags his thumb along Auston’s knuckle. “Like- ever since I was little, I’d look at all my names and try to guess what they’d be like, because of the colour or the writing or whatever. And I was always wrong, and they were never how I imagined them, but then I met you, and I just.” He breaks off, does this helpless little shrug. “I knew it was you, right away. And that’s never happened, before.” 

Mitch looks at Auston, searching. “So,” he says. “Sorry if you’re mad, that it’s me. But I’m not mad it’s you.”

“I’m not mad it’s you,” Auston says, when he can talk, after a second. “I’ve never- I’m the opposite of-” He breaks off, can’t think anything except _Marns_ , and isn’t really planning on it when he says, “Can I kiss you, please?”

“Please,” Mitch echoes, and then Auston doesn’t get a chance to second guess because he leans in or Mitch does and they’re kissing, this careful, building thing. It feels like something they should have been doing all along, puzzle pieces slotting into place, better than Auston could’ve imagined because of course it is.

Mitch’s breath kind of hitches in his throat, but before Auston can pull back to ask if he’s okay, Mitch is pulling him in closer, hands up on either side of Auston’s face, kissing him even stronger. Auston has had this exact dream, maybe.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, just kissing; doesn’t know anything until he hears a cough from behind them. 

Mitch kind of jumps, and when Auston looks over his shoulder, Connor’s standing there, looking immensely awkward. 

“Hey, man,” Auston says, a million times more normal than he feels. Mitch has still got a hand resting on his neck.

“Sorry,” Brownie says, apologetic. He’s blushing redder than his hair. “It’s almost curfew, I didn’t realize you guys were-”

 “It’s okay,” Mitch says, and he shoots Brownie a smile. His lips are all pink. Auston wants to be kissing him again. “You said- curfew?” He glances over at Auston, and Auston gets up, holds out a hand to pull Mitch to his feet.

“I’ll walk you out?”

Mitch beams at him, and Connor looks like he’s torn between rolling his eyes and laughing at them, but he does neither, because he’s a solid road roomie.

They end up standing out in the doorway for way too long, wrapped up in each other, trading these mostly-chaste kisses that Auston kind of wants to laugh at himself for, except for how it’s the best thing he thinks he’s ever felt in his life, this newborn thing so delicate he’s scared to poke at it more.

He brushes his nose against Mitch’s, stays up close.

“We have a game tomorrow,” Auston says, regretful, and Mitch kind of pouts. He’s got his hands on Auston’s waist, just under the hem of his t-shirt. 

“Gross,” he says, and they exchange smiles, small. The moment fades pretty quickly – Auston’s brain isn’t working enough to crack a joke, right now. Not enough to do anything, really, except for memorizing Marns’ hands on him, the letters peeking out from under his sleeve. His t-shirt all rumpled.

 _Hockey_ , Auston thinks, and makes himself pull back, just a little.

“We’ll talk,” he says, then, when Mitch nods, “I- goodnight.”

 “Night,” Mitch says, and he’s looking up at Auston, eyes wide so it’s not really Auston’s fault that he has to lean in and kiss him again. He can feel Mitch smiling against him, this time, and he doesn’t stop smiling when they break apart, this secretive little grin like he’s trying to hide it and failing miserably. Auston wants to be kissing him forever.

“The game,” Mitch says, kind of out of breath, and Auston nods. They’re being, like, objectively really dumb, because Mitch’s room is literally five doors down and they’re going to see each other at breakfast in a few hours, but they’re almost holding hands, pulling back real slow.

“We’ll talk,” Mitch repeats, and Auston squeezes his hand once before letting go. Mitch grins at him, crooked. “Night, soulmate.”

Auston’s definitely smiling too big, can’t bring himself to care. “Night.”

\---

Auston gets approximately an hour and a half of sleep, scores the gamewinner against the Blues, and gets tugged into the shower by Mitch after the game, which is all a little surreal, but especially the shower part, because Auston’s mostly finished getting dressed when it happens.

He gets hit in the face with the water from the shower, doesn’t get a chance to react because Mitch is kissing him again, like he’s been waiting.

“Dude,” Auston says, when they break apart for air. “I didn’t bring another shirt.” 

“You can borrow one of mine,” Mitch waves him off, ridiculous, and Auston kisses his cheek, this stupid little thing just because he can, and then they’re both trying to stifle their giggles and failing miserably.

“I,” Mitch announces, like he’s not standing there in a soaking wet pair of boxers and whispering so the rest of the guys won’t hear them, “have been wanting you to do that all day.”

Auston runs a hand down Mitch’s side, the rainbow of names. He can’t stop smiling, this ridiculous, giddy thing. “I’ve been wanting to do that all year. So.”

Auston’s hair is getting soaked through, flopping in his face ‘til Mitch reaches up to brush it back, gentle. It’s this weird-good moment, the two of them standing under the water in the visitor’s locker room like kids in a secret fort, like no one else exists.

 “I liked kissing you,” Mitch says, real soft.

“I liked kissing you too.”

“I want to do it again,” Mitch says. “Like- lots of agains, if you want. So like. This is the part where you talk.”

Auston holds his gaze, says, “I don’t want you to date Sarah.”

“Okay,” Mitch says, slow. “Because you’re still weirded out by the multiple soulmates thing, or-”

“-because I want you to date me.” Auston interrupts, and they’re just looking at each other, honest as anything. “Like- we’re soulmates, but you have other soulmates, and that’s- it makes sense, because how could anyone not love you, but I also just want to be boyfriends. Like. Just you and m-”

Mitch kisses him.

It’s real quick, barely a couple of seconds, because Auston’s shirt is completely soaked and the guys are right around the corner and it’s the opposite of romantic, really, but they’re both blushing bright red, and whatever Auston was going to say gets lost in the look on Marns’ face, this huge, open smile, eyes bright.

“You want to be boyfriends,” Mitch echoes, beaming at Auston. His names look like they’re glittering under the water, all across his arms and chest, this radiant thing that sort of takes Auston’s breath away. “Matts, that’s-” He giggles, and Auston does too, helpless. “I’m so happy, fuck. You _like_ me.”

“I’m your literal soulmate,” Auston says, and it’s hard trying to chirp when he’s smiling this big, but he makes a valiant attempt. “Probably should’ve figured.”

“Shut up,” Mitch laughs, and punches Auston’s shoulder, except then he reaches up and sort of cradles Auston’s cheek, this stupid-fond thing that comes way too easy, and Auston might actually float up right out of the building.

“Marns,” he says, and leans into Mitch’s hand, reaches up to lay his palm over his name on Mitch’s chest.

“I know,” Mitch says, and there’s a drop of water quivering on the tip of his nose, and Auston swears he can feel this in his chest, like something clicking into place.

“We’re going to be awesome,” he says, certain, and he is, because it’s _them_. 

**Author's Note:**

> dumb silly fluffy little thing. happy monday!


End file.
